Vanity (28 page)

‘You never know – it could do your career the world of good. You'll become known as the lawyer with principles, and a QC before you know it!' Andy was feeling so jubilant to have got to the bottom of his lengthy, and at times soul-destroying investigation, that he leant over and gave Alison a hug.

She hugged him back with a lot more enthusiasm than he'd bargained for, and he gently pulled away.

‘Erm – would you like another drink? I've got to be home for dinner soon, but you look like you could do with one more …'

‘Oh, God, yes, I'd love one. Thank you.'

When he returned this time, Alison started telling him about Philip and his repugnant offspring. As she ranted on, Andy was aware of the time racing away, and Bella waiting back at the flat for him.

‘They sound spoilt and horrendous, but – let's be honest, Alison … You did split up their parents' marriage. You can't expect them to love you immediately.'

‘I don't expect them to love me at all – a little civility would be nice, though.' Alison's voice was wobbling slightly. ‘I certainly don't love them.' And then her voice broke. ‘I'm not even sure that I love Philip, really.' She turned to Andy, unshed tears shining in her pale blue eyes. ‘What if I made the biggest mistake in my life? What if it's you I still love?'

She moved towards him, her lips slightly parted, as though expecting a kiss.

Andy jumped back, horrified, thinking immediately of Bella.

‘Oh, Alison, no. I'm sorry you're having a difficult time with Philip, but this isn't the answer. I'll walk you home, though, if you want – it's just around the corner, isn't it?'

It took Alison a moment or two to reclaim her dignity.

‘It's OK, I'll walk myself home. Thanks for the advice though – I think I will refuse to defend the bastards. Nothing wrong with a bit of integrity in the legal profession, for a change.' She smiled bravely. ‘You go back to Bella. It's always been Bella for you really, hasn't it?'

‘You and I were good together once,' said Andy kindly as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek. ‘But I'm with Bella now. I love her, and I always will. Best of luck with everything though. I'm already looking forward to the announcement of the youngest and brightest woman ever to have been appointed Queen's Counsel.'

‘Thanks, Andy. You're a good man.'

As Andy let himself into the tiny flat at 9.06 precisely, Bella leapt up off the chaise longue, where she'd been buried in a trashy novel, and ran towards him with her arms outstretched.

‘Oh, darling, you're early! I wasn't expecting you till 9.30! Oh, I'm so sorry I've been such a spoilt bitch – I know how important your work is to you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I love you!' She could hardly get the words out in her eagerness for everything to be OK again, and seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time.

Andy looked at her big-eyed, sincere, imploring face for a couple of seconds. Then he took it in one hand, smoothing her hair back from her brow with the other.

‘There's nothing to apologize for. I love you too.'

And he proceeded to kiss the life out of her.

As it happened, the LA stylists decided not to put Poppy in a floor-length gown.

‘Noooo, that would swamp her!' they had said to the designer, who was trying to get publicity for his new collection. ‘Don't you have anything shorter? Edgier? This is
Poppy Wallace
you're dealing with. Don't you ever watch TV?'

‘Not if I can help it, no,' the designer had sniffed, huffily. But he took their point.

And so it was that Poppy was standing on the red carpet, looking ridiculously cute in a very short white crochet-effect lace minidress. Buttery soft nude suede knee boots emphasized her perfectly proportioned brown legs. She'd had a long fringe cut and her streaky blonde hair swung around her shoulders in a style that her hair designer had described as, ‘Nineteen sixty-six to seven, halfway between dolly bird and hippy chick – sooo you.' Privately, Poppy thought that her look was more retro than edgy, but who was she to complain? It suited her.

‘Poppy! Poppy Wallace! Over here, beautiful! Look this way, Poppy! Poppy, Poppy, POPPY!'

The lights of the flashbulbs were so bright that she could hardly see, but Poppy turned and twisted and turned and twisted, her smile pasted to her face. Half of her adored the attention; it almost felt as if this was what she'd been born to do. The other half felt a little scared – Jesus, what had she let herself in for?

Just as she was thinking this, she heard some people shouting over the demands of the paparazzi. What was going on? She strained to see in the flashlights, while still trying to maintain a flattering pose: no mean feat.

‘Poppy Wallace, I love you!' shouted a fat man who looked as if he needed remedial care. She was just thinking that Bella would enjoy being told that this was the type of fan she attracted, when the nutter managed to break through the velvet rope.

‘Poppy! My most beautiful angel, you must be MINE!' He was shouting, and – bloody hell, was that a
knife
in his hand?

It all happened very quickly. The nutter was restrained by the guards, and then everything went dark for Poppy, as somebody threw his dinner jacket over her head and dragged her inside, into safety. Her saviour took her by the hand until they were ensconced in the VIP area, out of harm's way. Only then did he remove her makeshift burka.

Her heart still racing with fear, Poppy looked with amazement at her knight in shining armour.

‘Jesus Christ, Ben,' she said. ‘What the fuck?'

‘I'm so sorry,' said Ben, for the fifth time in a row. ‘I was such a self-centred bastard last year. I don't know what was wrong with me. You're looking great, though.'

They were sitting underneath an enormous crystal
chandelier
on a purple velvet banquette. Everywhere they looked, film and TV royalty meandered in extraordinarily over-the-top evening dress (Poppy really did stand out in her 1960s-inspired get-up). In the last minute, Owen Wilson, Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon had wandered past their table. The actual awards were due to start shortly; in the meantime everybody was enjoying the glamorous hospitality.

‘Great enough to appeal to religious lunatics with food issues, at any rate.' Poppy giggled. The ‘knife' had turned out to be a silver crucifix, and the fat man a harmless enough saddo known locally for his crushes on up-and-coming female stars. ‘But come off it, Ben, you've always been a self-centred bastard. What's different now?'

‘I
was
. I know that, Pops. Please accept my apology?' Ignoring her question, Ben gave her his beseeching, puppy-dog look and she melted a little.

‘Well, we were both self-absorbed twats, weren't we?' said Poppy, draining the dregs of her blackcurrant Martini. ‘I don't think Bella's forgiven me, still.'

‘Really?' Ben was amazed. He'd always thought that Bella was the ultimate soft touch. ‘Wasn't she your
bridesmaid
?' He'd heard it on the grapevine.

‘Yup, and she was lovely in the run-up to the wedding. But – oh, I don't know. She really seems to resent me now.'

They were both silent as they remembered the cause of that resentment.

‘So how's married life?' asked Ben, after a bit.

‘Just wonderful, thanks!' Poppy couldn't let Ben know how shit things were with Damian – that would be the ultimate betrayal. In fact, she had already decided that Damian must never know at all that she had met Ben here, in LA. It was unlikely to go down well, to put it mildly.

‘And you?' Deftly, she changed the subject. ‘You're not really having a bromance with Jack Meadows, are you? Believe it or not, he came to one of our parties in NY …'

‘
What?
Poppy, you're kidding! Jack's here. And even though I cannot abide the word ‘bromance' – yes, we're friends. He's a good guy.'

‘Yeah, he seemed it …'

Poppy's mind drifted for a second. She was still feeling sad, about Damian
,
and Bella, but more importantly about her father – she had just found out that he couldn't feed himself any more. She struggled to rally round, and found something:

‘Anyway, you still haven't told me why you've stopped being such a cunt. Is it just that fame suits your e-NOR-mous ego so fantastically? Or is there a wonderful woman behind the scenes?'

She was being flippant – surely
,
Ben could never love anybody more than he loved himself? – but as she saw the look in his eyes, she realized she had hit the nail on the head.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, there is!' she shouted gleefully, gesturing to the waiter for another couple of blackcurrant Martinis. ‘Who is it? Please don't say it's Amy Lascelles. Such a cliché to fall in love with your co-star, and she's always struck me as a horrible little bitch …'

‘Don't worry, it's not Amy. She is a horrible little bitch. No, it's …'

At that moment, Jack Meadows wandered into the VIP area. His eyes lit up at the sight of Poppy.

‘Hey.'

‘Hey.' Poppy smiled, and got up to give him a hug.

‘I was there first, asshole,' Jack said to Ben.

‘Actually, I was there first,' said Ben. ‘But Pops is married to my erstwhile friend, Damian.'

‘Erstwhile? Jeez, you Brits like to milk the old country, dontcha? But hey – small world …'

‘Indeed,' said Ben in an approximation of 1940s received pronunciation.

Jack laughed. ‘I guess somebody has to teach us
ghastly colonials
how to speak the Queen's English?'

‘I think Ben had plenty of help being taught how to speak the Queen's English himself,' said Poppy. ‘Didn't you, boyo?'

Jack looked momentarily shocked, and Poppy wondered if she'd gone too far, but Ben laughed easily.

‘Yup, if it weren't for RADA, I'd still be talking like a boy from the Valleys.'

Poppy looked at him with amazement.

‘OK
,
then, lover boy, tell us who she is, this extraordinary woman who's made you almost human? I don't know her, do I?'

‘Actually, you do, it's—'

‘
Ladies and Gentlemen, can you please make your way to the auditorium? The awards are about to begin!
'

The three of them looked at one another in excitement, and Poppy forgot all about Ben's new squeeze as her ego took centre stage once more.

‘Man,' said Filthy Meadows, looking at Poppy with undisguised appreciation. ‘Are you sure you're not available?'

‘Oh, don't be a stupid old dork,' said Heather Meadows (née Maria Gonzalez). ‘If she's not interested in Jack and Ben,' – she fluttered thick black eyelashes at Ben – ‘you really think this little sex kitten is gonna be interested in an old freak like you? Congratulations on your win, Poppy, hon. We
love
your show.'

Jack rolled his eyes at Ben. He was used to his mother's irrational likes and dislikes when it came to good-looking women. Poppy, it appeared, had rocked his momma's world. Soon, it became apparent why.

‘You really showed that Sandra bitch up for the whore she is,' said Heather, taking Poppy by the arm and leading her into the villa. ‘
It only goes on the wall if I screwed one of the band!
That was just classic, honey. But some of us have more class than that, as I'm sure you can see. Now, let me get you a drink – I make the
meanest
margaritas!'

When Poppy returned with a margarita in her hand, she was slightly glassy-eyed.

‘Your mum does make the meanest margaritas,' she said to Jack, who laughed.

‘Sorry, babe, should've warned ya. It's her Hispanic roots, y'see.'

He and Ben were lying on adjacent sun loungers. Clambering up the tree towards the hammocks would have proved way too problematic after the amount they'd had to drink tonight.

‘Congrats again, Pops,' said Ben, smiling benignly. Poppy had won Best TV Newcomer, and had called Damian in New York as soon as she'd found out. As the TV footage of the awards wasn't going to be shown until the following evening, Damian had been out on the town with Lars.

‘Oh
,
my darling, well done!' he'd shouted, sounding completely shit-faced but endearingly pleased for her. ‘I can't believe I'm married to such a clever thing. I LOVE YOU!'

‘I love you too, darling,' Poppy had said. ‘But I've got to go and mingle now. You don't mind, do you?'

‘Course not! Enjoy your success! Can't wait to see you and give you the most enormous hug – and the rest of it!'

Poppy hadn't intended to come back with Ben and Jack, but it had transpired that the ultimate after-party, the really important one, frequented by industry insiders, had for the past couple of years been held at Jack's Spanish-style villa, and Marty had insisted.

‘You gotta be seen at all the right places, babe,' he'd said.

Poppy had duly sparkled and twinkled and schmoozed the big cheeses, networking her pretty little feet off. At last, most of the guests had gone, and she, Ben and Jack had retired to his parents' quarters at the back of the house.

So now she found herself swaying slightly in front of the two people her husband would most hate to see her with. As she wasn't planning to do anything untoward with either of them, she excused herself in her own mind and plonked her tiny frame down on the ground between their loungers.

‘OK, Ben, I've waited long enough,' she announced dramatically. ‘Who is this amazing woman I apparently
know
, who has brought about this transformation in you?'